


Ik ga naar de top (Maar niet met jou)

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Or Is It?, sets during the 2018/19 season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 09:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: Frenkie was aiming for the top. Just not with him.





	Ik ga naar de top (Maar niet met jou)

**Author's Note:**

> I have been sleeping on them ffs.
> 
> The title is in Dutch and means "I'm going to the top (But not with you)". It's taken from a song by the Dutch new wave band "Soviet Sex" which is called "Niet met jou"/Not with you)
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes in English and also in their characteristics or whatever, I'm kinda new in this ship and there's not much material for them.

He's always been terrible at saying goodbye. The teary atmosphere of biding someone farewell with emotional last words, as if the whole world was ending with their departure, didn't suit him by nature. Goodbyes were just part of life, people come and go, new challenges are in front of them all, that's called progress. Important people will always stay in your life no matter what, right? Parents, family, partners, close friends - no matter how far they are, they're still part of your life after all. And nowadays, it's so easy to stay in touch. Goodbye doesn't mean anything. You can always call, skype or facetime them. Plus it's super easy to book a flight anywhere in the world, right?  
Right.  
Sometimes, there's not even need for a mawkish goodbye. That's in case you know you'll see the other person very soon again.   
Barcelona is actually very close to Turin. One and a half hour, he'd looked it up already.   
He'd looked it up as soon as his own move to Juventus was confirmed. Before, he'd thought of a two-hour flight from Amsterdam. It didn't make much of a difference.   
But Barcelona is not the other room. Barcelona is not the chair in the kitchen, the seat next to his own on a plane, the left half of a double bed. It's still a different city, another country. He won't get to stare in Frenkie's bright and always shining eyes every day, nor to touch and stroke his fluffy hair sprawled on a pillow anymore.  
Besides, he's always been terrible at saying goodbye, so he didn't say anything. The whole team was planning to throw a big goodbye party as a surprise for de Jong, that was it.  
They can visit each other after all, right?  
_Right._

It started with a kiss, as _it_ usually starts. _It_ didn't really mean a relationship, because, in Matthijs' mind, a relationship was something different. This was just a kiss and an unexplainable state of silence and awkward avoidance of addressing their status and feelings with the right name.   
_Love_ wasn't the right words, it was too definitive and too demanding.  
Matt felt like _friendship_ ended as soon as he pushed Frenkie against the door of their hotel room and stole the first kiss from his lips, holding him up against the only barrier between them and the world outside. In that second, it was over, he realized it right there and then, and when he pulled back with a gasp, they were no longer just _friends_.  
They've entered a grey area of some nameless state of a relationship with no name and no clear setting. Frenkie accepted it (if a kiss in return can be considered an act of acceptance and agreement). Yet they still played, dined and slept next to each other as they used to do before, like friends and teammates, who are in the midst of their youth and the best season of their lives. Two young prodigies of football, not only in the Netherlands but in the whole wide world.   
It started with a kiss after the second game against Real. The adrenaline was high, the atmosphere felt electric, and the night celebrations after the game actually ended by three in the morning, although they didn't even get to drink properly. Having two or three beers and champagne in normal circumstances wouldn't mean anything special, but after such win and in the middle of the season, it felt almost like having twenty units of alcohol in the veins.  
It was no wonder they ended up dragging themselves towards the room in an overly joyous mood, leaning on each other and laughing about the escapade of that night, the 4-1 win over one of the best teams in the world. The kiss was just a natural result of the whole day and night full of emotions, surprises, excitement, and passion.  
"Real Madrid," Frenkie repeated with a sparkle in his eyes that Matt has never seen. "You get it? It's Real Madrid!"  
He did indeed get it - they achieved something that seemed unthinkable before.   
Frenkie's laughter, his joy, and excited voice were well worth it.  
He told him so right after they'd entered the room. Frenkie just laughed and leaned back against the door. His irresistible smile, as always present on his face, was the only thing lighting up the room.  
That was the first time they kissed.

  
  
Then, there was silence. They went to sleep, nothing has happened, and the next morning was exactly the same as all the other ones. They woke up, brushed their teeth, got dressed and went downstairs for the team breakfast. There was nothing to talk about, actually.  
Matthijs waited for a moment of privacy with de Jong, hoping for at least some mention of the bygone night, but Frenkie just laughed as usual and didn't say a word that would comment anything that has happened between them. It was all about the victory, beating Real and advancing in the Champions League.  
Even Matt's shy attempt to get him talking came to waste.  
"How are you today?" he asked Frenkie, hoping for at least a glimpse in his eyes that would tell him - I know what has happened and I am aware of what it means.  
"Great, yeah, it's amazing to beat Real Madrid - "  
If only Frenkie could talk about his private life as easily as professional achievements.

  
  
They never actually talked about the night kisses again. It was a memory, a crazy one, connected to one specific day, and it didn't mean anything in an overall image of their lives, right?  
Right.  
Frenkie became a bit distant. It was as if he was already getting ready for his summer move to Barcelona. They used to hang out and joke about anything an everything the whole time, but it was all gone from their interaction now. After the first leg with Juventus, they didn't even talk.   
Frenkie was busy celebrating with the other players; it was just a draw, but an important one, a draw with Juventus counts, always. They sang the fans' favorite chants deep into the night, and their voices, rising from the hotel terrace, were audible even in Matt's room. He said he was tired and wanted to get as much sleep as possible; in fact, he was buried deep in his bedsheets, jerking off furiously to the memory of Frenkie's face and smile.  
When he heard his teammates singing, his heart sank. He was perverted guy, lusting after someone he could never have - someone who was carelessly singing with all the other guys downstairs as if there was no tomorrow - and he was a lonely, sick bastard, hiding in his bedroom so nobody would see his shameful condition.  
Frenkie returned to the room as quietly as possible and still, his presence woke Matthijs up.  
"Hey, what time is it?" Matt asked, whispering.  
"I thought you'd be asleep."  
"But what time is it?"  
Frenkie turned on his night table lamp and sat down on his bed. "Half-past two."  
"A bit early for you, huh?"  
"Yeah," Frenkie smiled, turning to him. Their beds were just a mere two feets apart; it was obvious they were supposed to serve as a double bed but the hotel staff separated them for the most famous Dutch team's arrival. "Can I move my bed closer to yours? It feels weird sleeping like this."  
Matthijs wasn't sure what it really meant - they were used to sleeping in double beds, that was a normal, natural thing in hotels, and nobody would ever point it out as weird or even gay; but during this stage, they have already spent two night in a separated beds and it was okay as well.   
"Yeah, of course."  
"I don't know why they keep separating it," Frenkie chuckled as he pushed his own bed closer to Matt's. "It's much more comfortable as a double bed."  
In the morning, Matthijs kind of expected to wake up in an embrace, with Frenkie's arms or legs thrown over his body, but it didn't happen. Frenkie was sleeping quietly precisely on his own half of the now shared bed, with his back turned to Matthijs.  
Matt didn't hesitate for a moment; he shifted closer to Frenkie and leaned over him. He was so beautiful - his boyish features, relaxed, young face and beautiful complexion - he didn't fight it and touched him; his cheek and then his ear and the back of his head. "Frenkie?"  
De Jong didn't answer. He was still sleeping; not caring about the intrusive sound at all.   
Matthijs kissed him, for the second time in his life, and this time, Frenkie didn't respond at all. He just sighed in his sleep and rolled on his back.

  
  
Victory over Juventus was a different caliber. They came back to their room much soberer and focused on the importance of the moment - while after the game with Real Madrid they still somewhat felt like a group of teenagers on their first school trip, now they were writing history.  
And it was Frenkie who dragged him along into the bathroom this time, breathy and excited.   
"We did it," he was half shouting and half whispering. "We did it."  
And since there was no better way to respond to such a heartfelt message, Matthijs grabbed his hand and made it very clear he was ready for whatever could come in their grey area relationship.   
And Frenkie kissed him.  
It didn't stop at the kisses though this time. Frenkie wanted more, and it was all sweat and passion and desperate grasping of his hand - until Frenkie was moaning, throwing his head back, and Matt swallowed, although he's never done this before. 

"Frenkie?"  
"Hmmmh?"  
"Do you think you're gay?"  
"No."  
His hand, stroking Matt's hair, didn't hesitate for a moment and continued in the pleasing caress.  
"I like girls," he added as an explanation.  
"Yeah."  
As if it _wasn't obvious_ , now, that they were lying in their bed in a lazy half-embrace.  
"It's just - it's just that it's you, you know?"  
"Yeah. I'm not gay either."  
"Good."  
At least one thing was clear in their relationship.

After Ajax won the league, during the celebrations and partying, Matt spent most of his time just being close to Frenkie. He watched him carefully, paying close attention to every simple gesture, the casual way in which he was sipping from his can of beer or waving his hands in the air in the rhythm of another hit song.   
It was the last time, after all. They didn't really talk about it, except for the usual exchange of congratulations for great performances and wishes of good luck for the future. They didn't get to discuss their own situation.   
Frenkie always changed the subject of conversation any time they got dangerously close to his summer transfer.  
He always seemed to live in the moment, not minding what the future holds, and if the whole team was currently at a stage at Museumplein, then Frenkie was there as well with his whole body and soul and his heart of his sleeve, he was giving speeches, singing, dancing and drinking and sweating and living for the masses of fans that gathered there to celebrate with them, and Barcelona could go to hell with all its glory and fame because Frenkie was still here.  
Matt saw the happy light he knew so well in the older boy's eyes, such light that was missing ever since they lost against Spurs in the Champions League. Frenkie was happy and this was Frenkie's goodbye. A happy, cheery, lively kind of public goodbye, for the fans. Will he get his own, private one?  
No matter what, if Frenkie was happy, he was happy with him.

"With Barcelona - "  
"Don't mention it."  
"You're leaving in what, ten days? And you still won't talk to me?"  
"About what?"  
"About - _us_?"  
"You'll come to Barcelona as well."  
"I don't think so."  
"Two, three years - "  
Matthijs let out a short desperate laugh. " _Two or three years_ ," he repeated. He looked so lost without his usual confidence and inner strength; those powers that always made him look like a born leader, ten years older than he actually was, were now missing as he was trying to confront Frenkie, and he actually looked like a nineteen-year-old boy, helpless without a guiding hand.   
"It's not that far. And today, with all the technology - "  
"So we'll stay like _this_?"  
_It_ was always like _this,_ like _that_ , _the thing between them_ , with no proper name and characteristics.   
"Unless you've had enough of me?" Frenkie looked at him defiantly.  
"I could never - "  
He rushed closer to Frenkie, and as soon as their hands touched, it all felt right, even the kisses, even the desperate holding onto each other, even the fingernails digging into the skin of the back of their necks, even the clumsy attempts to get each other undressed as soon as possible. Matt fought with Frenkie's shirt buttons, he'd love to just tear the whole fucking piece of clothing apart, his hands were shaking because this was something new, something he's never done before, but Frenkie just smiled and helped him, saying something about how small and hard to handle the buttons are.  
"I don't have a condom," he managed to choke out, grasping Frenkie's neck.   
"And some lube?"  
_Where was Frenkie getting those ideas?_  
"Maybe some cream in the bathroom - " His whole room looked strange from this perspective, as he was lying on his bed, with head thrown back, watching everything with an upside-down feeling. He's never thought about how much a perspective can change the feeling of the whole room.  
"I'll get it."  
Frenkie went and he was left lying on his back with a racing heart. He tried to count the seconds, breathe in and out in a nice, steady rhythm and calm himself dow. _Jesus Christ, he was really gonna do this_?  
_One. Two. Three. Four. Five_. His heart was about to rip his chest open. _Six. Seven. Eight. Nine_ \-   
"Got it."  
The cream felt terribly cold but their touches, shy and awkward at first, grew more and more intense with every passing second, and the cream absorbed their shared body heat.   
"Stay still," Frenkie repeated at least ten times as he positioned himself behind Mats, holding him possessively in a surprisingly strong grip. "Just stay still, okay?"  
He never thought he'd be in a situation like this, especially with a boy who looked fifteen at best and whose wide smile has been conquering hearts of fans all over the world for the last year, and especially with the Ajax playlist blasting the _Blah Blah Blah_ song from Frenkie's phone.   
It was a wise choice, Matt realized later. This way, his mind was too busy with trying to not go crazy from the loud music, that there was just a little space to focus on what was happening.  
Frenkie made love to him for the first time that night. It was more an act of desperation than love, Matthijs knew that as he buried his face into the pillow and moaned into it; not to add a bit of spice and vocality to their sex, but to let out the pain and despair.  
Clasped hands, sweaty skin, and ragged breath - a loss for words and Frenkie's beautiful eyes closed in a focused expression. This was private goodbye. The most real, rawest, neediest way possible - and the two of them as one body and one soul, at least for tonight.  
"Love you."  
It was the first time Frenkie said it. His lips were shaking, pressed against Mats' shoulder, and he was hardly even coherent.   
Matthijs had to fight the tears. A moment like this, one of a kind, in his whole life, and the sappy emotions would almost come out. He wasn't gonna let it happen.   
After all, this was the last time they could be actually together in all its meanings. One country, one team, one moment. From now on, Frankie would be a stranger to Ajax, the one that got away, although everyone wished him well in the new, _Barcelona_ chapter of his life.   
" _I love you too_ ," Mats wanted to say, but the words would never come out of his mouth. He just grabbed more of the pillow pad in his hand, buried his fingers deeper and bit his lips harder.

"Call me as soon as you land."  
"I'm not sure it will be possible."  
"I wanna know everything about what you do and how you feel."  
"I'll try."  
"You won't leave me hanging on - ?"  
"No, of course not."  
"Have a safe flight."  
"Thank you."  
Their eyes are locked. The meaningful gaze is for them only, not for anyone else.  
"Remember, Frenkie - "  
"I will."  
It's a big moment. The biggest moment of de Jong's life, actually. He needs to get ready and go to the airport, where a whole delegation of Barcelona's team staff is going to be waiting for him, with many questions and many demands, cameras, and interviewers. _Frenkie, how do you feel? It's a big day for you, isn't it? What a day for the young Dutch footballer! Frenkie, what are your emotions now? How much does Barça mean to you? Have you always been a fan? Is this your childhood dream?_  
Matthijs nodded, biting his lip again. _Frenkie de Jong, Barcelona's number 21_. A surreal thing to see, right?  
Right.  
Frenkie was aiming for the top. Just not with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are welcome! <3


End file.
